The Thing About Us
by LunnarChild
Summary: Darcy finds herself caught between a rock and a hard place when it comes to her son. . . . Or a brief look into the lives of the Lewis family.
1. Chapter 1, The Thing about a Rock

Drabble 1: Hurt/fear

As much as she loved her son, Darcy was sometimes found herself in a sort of stupor. There were simple, unintentional gestures – _a cool crocodile smile and a loud empty bark of a laugh_ \- that went past his knowledge that sent shivers down her spine and dread to grip a cold, iron fist around her heart that squeeze painfully in her chest. Then there were other times when the light caught on his blue, blue eyes – _his __eyes_ – which sparkled in a playful untamable mischief or when he smiles – _so disturbingly wide not unlike that of the Cheshire cat_ – so bright his eyes _glow_. It was times like the latter that make her catch her breath, holding it for ages, and forgetting how to breathe.

Darcy see's so much of _Him_ in Sawyer, it hurts. It is in the way he dances in the conversation, wielding his words with the skill of Thor in combat. Or in the way he simply looks at you and suddenly you feel every flaw in your person and the heavy guilt that you have buried in the deep depths of your psyche suddenly floats to the surface; the same way _he_ did, in that precise, calculated gaze. Her heart gives a mighty jerk whenever she sees that look. She half expected that one of these days her heart would burst out of her chest, taking what was left her and leaving with it. And it wasn't just Darcy that started to notice.

Barton, as far as he had come, could not stay half an hour in his presence when Sawyer was a child. Now, he couldn't stay much more than three minutes. With every passing day, as Sawyer grew older, he started to bare a greater resemblance to the man who nearly brought New York to its knees. For Barton it was like looking at one of his demons straight in the eye and remembered _everything_ as it laughed in his face.

There were times when she saw Thor and Sawyer together huddled in some male-bonding time and her heart shattered – _again, and again, and again…_ Darcy did not know who was suffering the most: Thor, herself, or Sawyer.

In the quiet moments when Barton was absent from the room and Natasha was busy, and it was just them, Thor on the rare occasion would speak of Loki as a solemn shadow fell over his face. He spoke of his cunning intelligence that saved their hides countless of times and his witty tongue that passed the centuries in fleeting moments of warmth. Darcy could hardly be called blind besides the obvious. But anyone could see the pain expression, that mournful look for ages long passed that flickered upon his battle weary face, when he looked at Sawyer's back.

Then there was Sawyer who was so hopelessly lost. Any information on Loki was classified and with SHEILD breathing down their necks as long as he's been alive, it was impossible. He turned to Thor with a need of a starved dog. Seeking anything he was willing to share. Sawyer was much too kind. He never asked. He knew enough about _h__im_, that it was a sore wound for the Avengers. So he wondered aimlessly between the shadowy realm between of admiration, acceptance, and hate for his father.

Bruce and Steve had more than civil distribution towards Sawyer. Steve was not one to put the mistake of the father on the shoulders of the son. And Bruce, well, Bruce knew what it was like to be the monster. To deal with the burden others couldn't understand. They were both a welcomed relief for Darcy.

Tony on the other hand, was driving her cheerily off a cliff and into the abyss of headaches. On principle, Tony – with all of his money, years, and experience – had the maturity of a ten year-old Sawyer. The age of lets-see-what-this-does-though-it-will-probably-end-badly-but-let's-do-it-anyways which Tony had yet to grow out of. Though the more Darcy got to know him, she had a sinking feeling that, that day would never come.

The genius-philanthropist-playboy-billionaire was just _Uncle Tony_ to Sawyer and Darcy was not particularly sure how she felt about that. Tony never treated Sawyer wrong by any means, but there were times – brief, fleeting looks – which Tony in his rarer moments of wisdom would give Sawyer when he knew he was not looking. As if he couldn't put his finger on why he was the way he was. Like Tony was staring to see something everyone else was just starting to notice.

Whatever it was, Darcy prayed that it was still years off. But for now, even though her heart broke as Sawyer found himself more and more alone, falling deeper into his father's shadow. There is a small part of her that wishes with all her being that_ h__e_could be there with him. Teaching him. Guiding him.

There was a tiny sliver of her that wished and wished that _he_ could see Sawyer and the man he was becoming. And simultaneously there was a part of her that feared the day when the two would meet.

* * *

This story is cross posted on A03 under the same pen name, and reposted from my tumblr account.

This was originally set between Thor and the Avengers. But I guess it can fit into the Dark World timeline but that is up to your interperation. And yes, Sawyer is the love child between Loki and Darcy. Again, whether he knows about Sawyer is up to your imagination.


	2. Chapter 2, Encounters of the First Kind

Drabble 2: Encounters of the First Kind

"What was he like?"

"Who?" Darcy asked.

For a minute Sawyer was silent, sheepishly looking at his book. In ways he was a lot like his mother. When he asked questions, he fired them off a mile a minute. It was strange to see him so quiet.

Then he said in a soft voice: "Dad."

Somehow Darcy forgot how to breathe. Sawyer never asked questions about his father but she had a sober suspicion that he already knew. It was one fact she couldn't protect him from. Sawyer was looking over his shoulders, his left leg bouncing anxiously, his only indicator of being nervous.

"Well for starters, you're a lot like him." She smiled slyly, trying to remember only the good and ignore the faint throbbing pain that came with it. "He would have loved you, _so much_."

Darcy ignored the sucker-punch feeling in her lower stomach. She knew a lot of things about Loki from both experience and super-secret SHIELD files she might or might-not have hacked. But for the life of her, she couldn't tell if what she had said was the true or another lie to add to the endless list of half-truths and fiction.

"How'd you meet?"

As Sawyer clutched the open paged book with white knuckles, Darcy paled, a flood of memories washed over her.

_He froze, stoically blinking as he tried to recalibrate his ("bag full of cats") brain. His handlers barked furious orders at her blurred into a wordless roar. Darcy was faintly aware of two gorilla-men in pressed black suits dragging her away and the feeling of warm sticky blood dripping down her bruised knuckles._

_It was just by chance they were both appeared within 100 foot radius simultaneously and Darcy had a rising suspicion Jane had asked to keep Loki as far from her as possible. Why? That was still debated but if Darcy had to ask, she'd put her money on "the risk of national security", which she might've already compromised with her little stunt. After all, she was a bit of a wild card in the scheme of things._

"That_, was for New York, you sick Cat Bag!" she spat with acidic venom she hadn't known she was capable of in the haze of things. It compensated for her poor insult choice. (What could she say? It was the first thing that popped into her head). Darcy could have sworn he smiled (a soul chilling smile that instilled the very essence of fear right into your core) but that was impossible with his metal gag that obscured half of his lower face and looked like a SHEILD rip-off of Bane's mask from _The Dark Knight Rises. _The dark haired girl was then acutely aware of the attention she would be getting from the said sociopath._

"We, ah, were _stationed_ in the same building," she said carefully.

"Oh," was his reply. Then came the hard hitting question: "Did he love you?"

Darcy smiled and looked down at the coffee clutched between her hands. Black, no sugar, no cream. Just the way _he_ liked it. It was cold now (just like his black, shriveled, bitter heart). She then whispered: "I like to think so."


	3. Chapter 3, The Thing about the Report

This is how Darcy Lewis finds herself sitting in her son's fourth grade class room stuck in a staring contest with a McGonagall look-alike; there are sixteen reminders deleted from her new Stark Phone, one MIA rouge e-mail loose in cyberspace, and five post-it notes conveniently missing from her desk. It isn't until Pepper – bless her soul – mentions that April 10th, as in today, was Midtown Elementary parent-teacher conference night that she remembers. Tonight was Sawyer's parent-teacher conference at Midtown Elementary. The parent-teacher conference she was ten minutes late to.

Darcy sprints into action leaving a trail of carnage in her wake. By the time she is "properly" dressed – as in anything other than a threadbare sweater and sweats – and out the door, ushering a cab, the threat of social death against Sawyer still hung in the air. A promise she was sure to make good on when she got home.

The single mother smiled at the memory of his pale, horrified face. A pale face, twisted in anger, dangerously cold eyes swirling with rejection and contempt – Darcy forced herself to snap out of her thoughts. Thoughts like that were always precarious. Especially in public, enough said.

"Mrs. Lewis!"

"Miss," Darcy automatically replied.

The McGonagall look alike gave a withering look. "As I was saying Ms. Lewis, about Sawyer–"

"Oh God, is this about Michael Kearne? Look I talked things out with his parents, and for the record, I don't have the slightest clue where on earth he could have gotten those frogs but –"

"What?" McGonagall blinked, "Frogs? N-no Ms. Lewis I am not here to talk to you about the Kearne boy, I want to discuss about Sawyer's genealogy report."

"Genealogy report?" Darcy repeated dumbfound. What genealogy report?

Lead like dread sank to the pit of her stomach. Genealogy as in familial tree kind of genealogy? As in let me talk about my family and my family history kind of genealogy report? Oh f-

"Yes, his genealogy report." McGonagall filled through the papers on her desk. Immediately she found what she was looking for. "I have to admit that your son's report was a bit …. Surprising."

"I'll bet," Darcy fidgeted nervously.

"You have read your son's report correct?"

"Yes ma'am." It was an automatic response from her long since passed, devil-may care days of high school. Now she was starting to remember why she hated parent-teacher conferences so much.

"Then perhaps you would like another look then?"

The dark haired woman reluctantly accepted the pages. The room was silent except for her thundering heart until it all but stopped.

If McGonagall wasn't in the room, Darcy would have smacked herself from ever doubting Sawyer to not spill the preverbal beans. There was no mention of Loki and now that she came to think about it, Sawyer didn't have much reason to think they were related. For now. At least that secret was still a resting. But in retrospect, there wasn't much comfort in that fact.

If Sawyer's paper could be summed up in a single word, Darcy might say it was beautiful. It was well thought out and organized on a level that exceeded the fourth grade standard. That much wasn't a surprise. Sawyer is smart. Incredibly smart and clever like his father. Sawyer just didn't care enough to show it. Darcy was willing to bet a million bucks (that she didn't have) that he could jump several grades easily. He just lacked the enthusiasm.

She felt the corners of her lips twitch. Not unlike herself at that age. With the shock of Sawyer's secret report, it gave Darcy comfort that he took more after her.

It was beautiful as it was tragic. All of it lies and yet the truth. His paper was beautiful because it was the truth. It was tragic because it wasn't.

Darcy could only get half way through before the tears she was desperately trying to hold back clouded her gaze. After a few shuttering breaths, McGonagall spoke, "Your boy is a bright one, Ms. Lewis, as I am sure you are aware. But he has difficulties letting people in to help him."

"I'm sorry ma'am," emotionally wary Darcy internally laughed at herself. Now she was starting to sound like Steve! "I've been trying to work on it with him. I hope this isn't giving you any trouble in class."

"No, it hasn't. Matter in fact, he often quiet through the entire day. Just sits and stares off into space."

Definitely her son, she thought with a smile. But McGonagall wasn't finished.

"Normally I don't condone such activities during class but seeing as he isn't harming the learning of other students and the fact he has kept up in all his studies, well … I've, as you say, let the matter slide."

Darcy nodded, but something was bothering her. Just something about this entire conversation set her nerves into hyper drive. And like always, Darcy spoke her thoughts without second thought and filter. "Well that's great but there seems like there's something else you want to talk about."

McGonagall sighed, retched for her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. Her stern expression melted into something softer – there was a gentle light in her eyes and something akin to a sober smile on her lips. Then she spoke words that Darcy wouldn't forget any time soon.

After, everything had been said; the two women said their goodbyes and Darcy left without another word. On the taxi ride back, McGonagall's words rang in her ears. She was two-thirds the way home when she remembered that she didn't return the report to the teacher. (She also realized that she didn't even bother to learn McGonagall's real name). Part of her wanted to keep it the other wanted to burn it.

Like always, anything even remotely related to Loki left her in a state of confusion. But, she guessed, was part of the act. He was the god of mischief and chaos after all.

Later that night, when she returned home, she snuck into her son's room. She felt silly as she did it, especially when they lived with two super assassins whose job was defined by their covert abilities – a concept that could be poorly shared with the brown haired woman. Sawyer, like the good, frightened son he was, was tucked in bed with the lights off already asleep. Darcy quietly checked his bedside area if he was hiding any books that would suggest him faking it. He could be quite the convincing actor when he wanted to be.

The room was dark except for the pale city lights spilling through the window and onto Sawyer's sleeping form. His dark hair contrasted with the pillow his head rested on, resembling a black hole. He was scrunched into a ball with his thin blankets tucked beneath his chin. His breath even. In his sleep he didn't look like either of his parents, in his sleep he looked like a child.

McGonagall's word came back at full force: _"Ms. Lewis, I know this concept may seem foreign to you but you are not the first single parent I have come across in my years of teaching. Nor will parents like you or children like Sawyer be the last. And both from my own personal beliefs and my professional opinion, I could care less about your marital status. My only concern is the well-being of your son when he is in my care. We live in a world of war. It is chaos and pain and grief and it is a world we pass on to our children."_

Darcy remembered the painful lurch in her gut at the words. Now it settled into a familiar lead weight. It was starting to sound like an argument long since passed. One she had no desire to start again.

_"Your son is a bright boy, as I have said before. But he limits himself in a way that could be problematic later down the road; both socially and academically. Sawyer has trouble letting people in; it shows how he interacts with the other children and especially adults. He keeps everyone at an arm's length, never letting anyone too close. Sawyer needs to know that he has people he can trust. He needs to know that he has people he can turn to. _

_The world is changing faster than we can keep up with it. I can't imagine what might happen should he stumble along the way."_

* * *

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while but there's this thing call college and finals. I'm sure this is a tune you, my fine readers, have heard before. Hopefully I have the next chapter up in the next two weeks.

Time-wise: Sawyer is approximately 8


End file.
